


So Much Stronger Than a Man

by Tamburlaine



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996) Fusion, Anal Sex, Angst, Churches & Cathedrals, Dubious Consent, Exorcisms, Killian is Frollo, M/M, Not Happy, Period Typical Attitudes, Peter Pan is Esmeralda, Religion, Sexual Content, Sorry Not Sorry, Suffering all through, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-20 00:52:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2409128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamburlaine/pseuds/Tamburlaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killian is a pious priest with only God in his heart. That is until he meets an alluring Gypsy boy who leads him into a life of sin.</p><p> <br/>”I need you to get out of my head,” Killian answered between clenched teeth. Peter tilted his head, still smirking.<br/>”I'm not the one who came to find you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Much Stronger Than a Man

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hellfire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2099115) by [Captain_Mercurian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Mercurian/pseuds/Captain_Mercurian). 



> First thing I've ever posted on AO; it's very exiting! This story is not a happy one, but everyone needs a little reminder that somebody has it worse once in a while.
> 
> Very many thanks to my beta Laura, who did not stop reading halfway through though she would've prefered to imagine a happy ending for these two <3

”Injustus Bain has been found guilty of sodomy, for which he will be sentenced to prison for life. The sentence shall begin the following Saturday, when Monsieur Bain will be transferred to a chosen facility. May God bless his soul.”

As the court stood up, the hall was quiet except for the scraping of chairs against the floor and the wailing of the sentenced man. Killian looked at the ragged creature without sympathy. He was dirty and his face was caked with dry blood, his clothes mere rags on his back after numerous lashings.

Killian had risen with the others and made his way to the door as the guards pulled away the prisoner.

”Reverend Jones, a word if I may.” Killian waited for the archdeacon to join him and greeted the man with respect.

”Archdeacon Paillard. What is on your mind?”

”The new captain has arrived. He is waiting for you on the stairs to the cathedral.”

”Ah, yes, excellent. Just in time for the carnival.” Killian despised the peasant's festivities, and even now his lips were drawn into a tight line as he thought about it. These carnivals were nothing but an insult towards God and the church. ”I hope he can tame the mob better than his predecessor.”

”I believe you will find him quite up to the task. Though I do hope these halls won’t be too busy afterwards.” Paillard made a gesture towards the high ceiling, and Killian nodded.

”Doubtlessly. Sinners tend to crawl out during times like these.”  
”You are quite right, Reverend Jones. I will take my leave of you now, go see to the new captain.” Jones nodded and made the sign of the cross over his chest before leaving. The black gown flowed smoothly as he walked, and Killian raised his chin; the perfect picture of power.

The captain was as promised waiting by the cathedral, his hands behind his back as he followed the passers-by with his gaze.

”God's blessing, Captain,” Killian greeted him and the man took a deep bow. He had light, short hair and a stern face. ”We are very grateful that you could make it here on such short notice.”  
”God's blessing, Father. Captain David Nolan, at your service. Anything I can do to help, I will.”  
”Yes, you will have your hands full tomorrow. Walk with me, Captain.”

They walked through the cathedral while Killian made comments about the paintings and sculptures they passed. Several staircases up they stepped outside, and well above the hustle of the city, Killian turned to more serious matters.

”Are you married, Captain?”

”Yes, Father. We have a daughter as well.”  
”Then you know how important it is to keep the streets safe. These festivities can unfortunately not be stopped, though they are dangerous both to the mortal body and the immortal soul. I expect everything to go smoothly under your watch.”  
”I will do all that is in my power to keep the streets safe and put all sinners behind bars,” David vowed immediately and Killian nodded with approval. ”Is there anything I should be especially strict with?”

”The Gypsies. They do not abide by our laws and seem to find an almost perverse kind of joy in these carnivals. They are all thieves and murderers, and cannot be trusted. Besides, they haven't been baptized; there is no fear of God in them.” Killian stopped by the banister and looked down. Indeed, he could make out a group of them in their colourful clothes at the corner of the market square. Probably scamming people of their money. How did they dare in the vicinity of the cathedral, Killian cursed.

”Yes, sir.” Killian was too focused on the small group of entertainers to notice the troubled look that passed over David's face. ”If that is all, I'll go inspect the men immediately.”  
”Do your job, Captain,” Killian said. ”May God be with you.” The captain nodded, bowed and left Killian alone.

  
  


Killian held the evening sermon with as much passion as always: he sang in a state of euphoria and his preaching was eloquent and fear-inducing. He led the final prayer with a cold confidence acquired over the years and thanked God with all his heart, as well as asked him to condemn all sinners.

As the cathedral emptied Killian took a moment to walk among the burning candles. He felt utterly at piece within the high stone walls. The eyes of the statues gave him a feeling of being watched over, and he stopped by the Virgin Mary longer and asked her to forgive him for all his sins: his proudness most of all. He was a pious man and he knew it, and only in front of her eyes could he feel some shame about his pride over it.

The town continued its preparations for the Feast of Fools though the sun had already set. Killian walked the streets with his head held high. He had sent his carriage away, opting instead to enjoy the warm summer evening. However, for every decoration he passed his distaste grew bigger. He avoided looking at the happy people around him, until he came across a bigger group.

They were gathered by a bonfire and were watching some kind of performance. Killian approached the group to get a clearer picture of what was going on, but his face twisted into a frown as he did so.

A few Gypsies were the source of the commotion. One was a fire eater, another was doing small magic tricks. Then there was a girl and a boy dancing while a gangly youth played a flute.

Involuntarily Killian found his gaze drawn to the dancing boy, who moved with otherworldly grace, sometimes with the girl, but mostly by himself. As he somersaulted the crowd applauded and several coins were thrown into the cap on the ground.

His unevenly cut hair was a deep brown in the darkness, but the fires made it shine golden. He had long limbs and slender hands; his body was lithe and supple. As he bowed to the crowd Killian got a few seconds to study his face: so young, so beautiful. Mesmerizing eyes surrounded by dark circles, dark expressive eyebrows and a sharp chin. He was grinning widely, white teeth flashed as the obscene, plump lips parted. Killian had to focus on swallowing as he stared at the boy, location and time forgotten.

The boy met Killian's gaze and his laughter died out. This pulled Killian out of his trance and he turned quickly away before leaving. His heart was still beating when he reached his apartment, and his cock was throbbing.

Killian undressed and kneeled by his bed, beads of sweat on his forehead as he started praying. It took long for him to calm down; every time his thoughts returned to the Gypsy boy his heart rate picked up.

”God help me,” he muttered and finally mumbled out an amen with all the conviction he could muster.

As he closed his eyes the boy continued dancing in his mind. Killian got up several times for a glass of water, and when he finally fell asleep the boy was there in his dreams too. By morning the bed sheets were soaked with sweat and Killian felt – for the first time in years – afraid.

  
  


Killian had joined the church after his brother died. He had been seven at the time; his brother was the only family he had had. They’d lived in a small apartment together and had been on their way home one night when three men had cornered them. They'd asked for money, money Killian's brother didn't have. Killian's brother had told him to run and threw himself at the men to give him the opportunity. Killian hadn't moved, too stubborn. He had seen a flash of steel before the knife was sunk into his brother's chest. That was when Killian had run; not away, but towards his brother. One of the men had grabbed Killian while the others looted his brother's body.

When they’d left Killian had held his brother until they were found. Killian had been taken to an orphanage with nothing but a burning hatred towards Gypsies.

He’d met a priest there, Father Paillard, who had taught him about God and sinners. Killian had joined a monastery and eventually become a priest. With the support of his religion he had found peace and acceptance, but not forgiveness for others. His hatred for the Gypsies hadn't been discouraged, but any curiosity towards love and lust had. And so each time Killian saw a beautiful woman or man he would look away, and after a few years he didn't look at all.

Until today.

Killian ordered a warm bath, hoping that cleansing his body would also cleanse his mind. But every stray thought of the enchanting boy caused a stirring in his groin, and he couldn't stop his mind from wandering back to the random encounter last evening. It wasn't until Killian stepped outside that the morning air succeeded in distracting him from his sinful thoughts.

He took care of his morning rituals and obligations with an unusual absent-mindedness. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice, and Killian was able to leave for the festivities without having to talk to any of his fellow priests, or the archdeacon. Killian's face drained of colour as he thought about the archdeacon, and how he would react if he knew of the sinful thoughts in Killian's head. As he straddled his horse – a carriage stood no chance in the masses he was about to join – he decided to forget about the boy.

The people had gathered at the market place, which was adorned with colourful banners and wild flowers. The people were dressed in equal fashion: reds, yellows and greens, flowers or ridiculous hats on their heads.  
There were three stages in the open area: two small ones and a bigger one, on which the main events would be held. At the moment a small theatre group was performing on one of the smaller stages and acrobats occupied the other. The big one was empty, waiting for the parade.

Killian rode up to the captain, who was in full armour despite the hot weather.

”Everything in order, Captain?”

”Yes, Father. I've got soldiers at every corner,” Captain Nolan answered. Killian nodded, satisfied. The hubbub was enough to distract him from his otherwise persistent thoughts.

They could hear the parade approaching from far away: the steps, the music, the laughter. Men and women on wooden legs balanced above the crowd; dancers, acrobats, jugglers, fire eaters: all advanced as the crowd parted. There were musicians of all kinds, farm animals lead by leashes and people dressed in big animal costumes leading them. Killian sneered as he watched the parade, which mostly consisted of Gypsies, advance towards the main stage. He would have preferred to look away, but it was his duty not to.

The procession was singing some merry song, but the words were lost in the roar of the crowd before they reached Killian. He followed the artists as they hopped up on the stage, which they then left bare for a dance number.

”Lord have mercy.” Killian recognized one of the dancers. Even if he hadn't recognized the hair and the body, he would have recognized the captivating movements of his body. It was the Gypsy boy from last night, the one who wouldn't leave Killian's mind in peace.

”Is everything alright, Father?” Nolan asked, a concerned frown on his face. Killian nodded, but couldn't tear his eyes away from the boy.

The rest of the festivities passed in a blur to Killian; he only had eyes for the boy. The boy laughed, smiled – no grinned, constantly, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he moved with more grace than any man Killian had ever seen. Sometimes he would simply sit by the side as the other Gypsies performed, sharing a baguette with a tall youth with dirty, long blond hair.

  
”Father, there is a brawl in one of the taverns close by, I need to go. Will you be alright?” Nolan asked, effectively pulling Killian out of his reverie for the first time in hours.

”Yes, yes, of course. Go,” he answered, and his eyes immediately returned to look for the boy.

He was gone.

Killian felt unreasonable panic as he searched the crowd and caught a glimpse of feathery hair and broad shoulders as they disappeared in a small alley.  
There was no one to stop him or question his actions as he descended his horse and fought his way through the crowd to follow the boy. He needed to... do something. Exactly what, not even God could tell. But something so this boy would stop plaguing him.

For a second Killian thought that he had lost the boy, but he found him crouched behind a barrel, just tucking something away behind it.  _Probably his whole fortune_ . The boy looked up at the sound of Killian's steps. Fear flickered in his eyes as he noticed the robes, but he quickly hid it behind a confident smirk and stood up. Killian kept his eyes firmly on the boy’s face, so as not to let them travel down his body hungrily.

”Anything I can do for you, Father?” the boy asked, too cockily.

”Yes. No.” The boy raised one perfect eyebrow, the left corner of his mouth pulled up in an amused smile. ”What's your name, Gypsy?” Killian demanded.

”Peter. Pan.” The boy seemed unfazed by Killian's hard stare. He was even more exquisite this close, even underneath all the dirt. ”Am I in trouble, Father?” His voice was languid, a curious lilt at the end of the sentence. Killian could feel it go straight to his groin, and he would've moaned if he didn't have better self-control.

”No. Not yet, at the least.”

”Good. I've got to go then, there's a party.” The boy walked towards Killian, his dark eyes never breaking contact. He was dressed in all green, Killian noticed. ”Bye, Father.” He passed and Killian turned to look after him, but the boy had disappeared among the throng.

  
  


If Killian had hoped that he could forget about Peter once he had spoken to the street rat and seen him for what he was, he was sorely disappointed. After the Feast of Fools he could see Peter everywhere, even if it really wasn't him. But every day, after darkness had fallen and Killian was on his way home, he rode past a bonfire and a dancing boy. Peter would never acknowledge him; sometimes he even stopped dancing and left together with another Gypsy boy. On the nights that Killian couldn't find him, even though he wouldn't admit to himself that he was looking, he went to bed with a hollow feeling in his chest.

  
  


A month of stolen glimpses on the streets and restless nights later, Killian was going crazy. He was agitated and not even prayer could calm his mind. Every night he dreamt of Peter's naked body underneath his and woke drenched in sweat with an aching cock.

Because of the inner turmoil Killian experienced, he had stayed later than usual in the cathedral one evening, hoping to lose himself in prayer for a few hours. His knees were starting to ache as he kneeled on the stone floor in front of the Virgin Mary statue, prayer beads clasped tightly in his hands, when the sound of the door slamming shut made him look up.

With stale movements Killian rose and walked quietly towards the big entrance, hidden in the shadows of the pillars. It was Peter. His chest rose and sank with heavy breaths as he leaned against the door, head thrown back. The candles lit up the pale skin of his throat.

Killian stared intently at the boy as he began walking further into the church, eyes fixed on the huge altar painting. Killian followed him soundlessly, desperate to touch the boy. Peter may know the streets better than Killian, but they were in a cathedral now, and that he knew. It made him feel powerful.

Peter seemed to be too fascinated with the painting and the thousand candles to notice Killian sneaking up on him. Killian grabbed him quickly; pulled one arm behind his back and put his free hand on the boy's shoulder. Peter didn't shout, but he struggled violently.

”What are you doing here?” Killian asked, his grip like steel. Peter turned his head just enough to see his assailant, and stopped struggling. Killian didn't loosen his grip, though he preferred the boy unmoving. The feel of the boy's lean body against his felt better than anything he had known.

”Soldiers,” Peter answered, his voice even. Killian nodded and took a deep breath. The boy's hair was so soft, and underneath the road dust it smelled heavenly. ”Mind letting me go?” Killian shook his head, too focused on his other senses to pay much attention to what the boy was saying. His smell, the warmth of his boy, the softness of his skin on his delicate wrist.

That's why he was taken completely by surprise when Peter stepped on his boot with his heel. Killian let go of the boy, who stumbled before regaining his balance and ran without looking back. Killian stared after him, frozen into place with surprise.

”Father Jones.” Killian turned around to see archdeacon Paillard, his face set in stone. ”What was the commotion?”

”A Gypsy boy, Archdeacon. He was-”

”Silence, Father Jones. You have been a faithful member of the church for many years. Do not sway in your faith now.” Killian bowed his head under Paillard's unforgiving study and felt shame wash over him.

”I won't, Archdeacon,” Killian answered. Paillard nodded after a heavy silence.

”Do not let the devil tempt you to sin. Only a fool mistakes the devil's face for an angel's.” The archdeacon made as if to go, but he put a hand on Killian's shoulder in a gesture that was both fatherly and warning at the same time. ”You've never been a fool before, Killian.”

  
  


Despite Paillard's words Killian couldn't forget about Peter, even less now that he knew what the boy smelled like, how his body felt against Killian's. A week later, Killian left his priest's robes in the closet and donned simple trousers and an inconspicuous jacket before heading out into the night.

”I am a fool,” he muttered as he arrived at the tavern one of the soldiers had told him would be his best bet if he was looking for the Gypsy boy.

As he opened the door a warm breath of air hit him. The fire place was alight, illuminating the whole room with the help of candles on the ceiling and along the walls. The smoke from the open fire made it impossible to see the opposite wall, and Killian tried to hide his uncertainty as he stepped inside.

The tavern was packed; it echoed with laughter, songs and chatter. Killian tried to avoid hitting anyone as he made his way further into the room. An ugly peasant woman smiled at him: Killian looked away. He could see nothing but drunks and hookers, repulsive sinners who had abandoned God a long time ago.

”What's a fancy gentleman like you doin' here?” a sultry voice asked. A woman snaked her arms around Killian's neck. He quickly pushed them away.

”I'm looking for someone. Peter Pan?” he asked, because there was no chance to find the boy in this hellhole without help. The woman pouted, but pointed her thumb towards the back of the room.

”He n' his lost boys are at the corner table. He in trouble?” Killian shook his head and pushed the woman aside, already irritated with her. He needed to find Peter, get rid of this aching in his stomach and return to his old life. The first thing he’d do would be to get this vile place burnt down.

A group of seven boys were gathered around a table, and Killian would’ve had no trouble picking out Peter even if he hadn't been sitting on top of the table. He was talking with the blond boy Killian so often saw with him, that smirk on his face as he sipped from a pint. He glanced up and his eyes fell on Killian.

Surprise and fear, then a blank expression. He raised a questioning eyebrow and Killian nodded towards the staircase that led to the upper floor. Killian turned around and went upstairs, to the end of the corridor and to the room at its end. It was empty, nothing but a bed and a dresser and a small window out on the street.

”I didn't expect to ever see you here, Father.” Peter was casually reclining against the door frame, his eyes shining playfully. ”You lost?”

”No. I was looking for you.” Killian studied the relaxed youth. He seemed to have left their previous encounter behind him, forgotten. For some reason this thought angered Killian. ”I need– I can't stop– You're everywhere!” The words were difficult to find, and Killian's tone was accusing. Peter once again raised an eyebrow.

”I doubt that. I suspected you've been following me, you know? I just can't understand why.” The insolent boy was smirking now, and he moved into the room as graceful and calculating as a cat.

”I need you to get out of my head,” Killian answered between clenched teeth. Peter tilted his head, still smirking.

”I'm not the one who came to find you.”

Killian closed the distance between them in two swift steps. His fingers tangled in Peter's hair as he pulled him into a ferocious kiss. The boy tasted of beer, warmth and something distinctly him. Killian felt the now familiar stirring in his groin, and he bit Peter's lip until he could taste blood.

”I don't want this, but you leave me no choice,” he growled and pulled the pliant boy with him to the bed. Peter didn't struggle like he had in the cathedral; instead his back arched off the bed to be closer to Killian, and his hands roamed underneath the priest's coat. Killian grabbed his wrists and pinned them against the bed above his head.

”Don't,” he commanded, and started unbuttoning his trousers. Peter reached up for a kiss and Killian was for a second mesmerized by his plump lips, moist and dark after the violent kisses. Killian could now see why this was considered sinful.

He pushed the thoughts away and turned Peter over, pulling his own trousers down to his knees. He needed to do this, and it was easier without having to look at the boy's face. He wasn't gentle as he undressed Peter. He was even more beautiful than Killian could ever have imagined.

”Use the tallow,” Peter gasped as Killian lined up behind him.

”What?”

”From the candle.” Killian looked around him, and yes, on the bedside table there was a previously lit candle. He scooped up the tallow that was still soft, but not hot anymore, before lubricating himself. Then he grabbed Peter's slender hips and started pushing.

Heaven. Killian was sure he was in heaven once he was completely sheathed within the whimpering boy. He had never felt anything as good as the boy around his cock. He breathed heavily and pressed kisses to Peter's back. He wasn't sure, but Peter might have screamed as he pushed inside.

”Move,” the boy growled, his voice thick. Killian obeyed, and as he moved Peter let out a broken moan.

The room was silent except for the slap of skin against skin, Killian's heavy breathing and Peter's whimpers and moans.

Killian came shortly afterwards, and remained on top of the boy in a euphoric state of mind. How could something so good be so bad?

When he pulled out Peter curled up on his side, his back turned towards Killian. He looked so small, so young, and Killian put his arms carefully around the boy. A sweaty back plastered against a sweaty stomach.

”I've wanted you ever since I first saw you on that street corner. I couldn't stop thinking about you. I've never felt this way before. You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.” Killian whispered these things into Peter's ear. Peter was completely still, but when he turned on his back Killian let him. Peter's eyes were dark, his lower lip was swollen where Killian had bit into it and his cheeks were flushed. He was gorgeous.

His eyes seemed to seek something in Killian's. Without a word he got up and started dressing himself. He was limping slightly and Killian noticed that he pressed his lips tightly together as to remain quiet.

Killian thought Peter would leave the room without a word, but in the doorway he turned around, a contemplative look on his face.

”You know where to find me then,” he simply said, and closed the door behind him.

  
  


Killian returned to the tavern every night for two weeks. Some nights Peter wasn't there, and the following evening Killian would be rougher with him in bed. But every time he saw Killian he would get up and lead the other man to an empty room, undress and respond to each kiss, even though it wasn't with as much desperation as Killian.

So instead of dreaming about Peter every night, Killian now spent every night with Peter.

Sometimes after fucking, because that was what they were doing, not even Killian would dare to call it making love, Peter would fall asleep, exhausted. Killian lay beside him and ran his finger over his features, his body and admired his damnation.

More than not Killian would be rough: Peter's body would be littered with bruises and bitemarks the following day; his dancing wasn't as graceful anymore. But sometimes, when Killian was overwhelmed by guilt because of the pain he caused the boy, when that guilt overwhelmed the guilt he felt over betraying his church, he would be gentle. He'd caress, stroke and leave soft kisses on every inch of Peter's body. He knew it as well as the cathedral by the end of the first week, and worshipped it in the same form.

He was so caught in his lust he didn't notice that he was being followed.

  
  


Killian was called to archdeacon Paillard's presence on a windy afternoon. He greeted as was appropriate, but as he opened his mouth to ask why he was there, the archdeacon spoke.

”I thought you weren't a fool, but it seems I was wrong. I warned you the devil hides behind a beautiful face.” Killian, who had been suppressing his guilt and self-hatred as best as he could the past weeks, felt it all crash down in front of the archdeacon.

”It's not my fault! It's not my fault if God made the devil so much stronger than a man,” Killian protested, not aware of what he said before it left his mouth. He was instantly horrified of what he had let slip, and tears welled up in his eyes. ”Forgive me, Archdeacon, for I have sinned,” he whispered and fell to his knees.

”It is not for me to forgive you, but God. You must get rid of this boy and repent. I can help you find a suitable penance, but the regret must be real. Nothing is worth turning one's back to God, my son.” Paillard's voice softened at the end, and Killian's eyes watered. He knew the archdeacon was right.

”Yes, Archdeacon. This demon... it got into my head. I don't know if I'm strong enough to rid myself of it.”  
”I know you are.”

  
  


Killian spent two days and nights in the cathedral in front of the Virgin Mary, praying. He needed for God to be the only presence in his heart again, but it seemed impossible. As evening closed in and the shadows became long he found his thoughts wandering to Peter; he wondered if the boy was waiting for him at the tavern.

He could hear the priests as they sang, listened to the sound echo off the stone walls and felt tears burning in his eyes. As he squeezed them shut he could see Peter in front of him. The priests' song suddenly reminded him of the tune Peter sometimes played on his flute while they were lying in bed.

Killian, to drive out these thoughts, replayed instead the archdeacon's words in his head. Yes, he had always been a good man, a devoted priest. Never in his years had he sinned, and how quickly had he fallen for this Gypsy boy? Within days. Killian could find only one explanation to why he had been so weak, and by the time the sun rose on the second day he was convinced that Peter was a demon.

He thought of the wicked smirk, the boy’s eerie presence and unnatural, alluring dance.

It was the only explanation and Killian was quick to accept it, as well as what he had to do. He would have to exorcise the demon.

  
  


And so Killian sought advice from a fellow priest, who had performed exorcisms before, and returned to the tavern for one last time. However, unlike before, he headed straight up to the room at the end of the hall without alerting Peter of his presence. He spread the holy oil on the floor and took a few minutes to gather his courage before returning downstairs.

Peter was sitting at the table he always occupied with his friends. He seemed to be happy, which Killian didn't doubt. So far the demon had been succeeding. Killian couldn't understand how he hadn't seen it earlier; now that he looked at the boy it was obvious in his smile and his eyes.

Those very eyes looked up and fixed on Killian moments later. He emptied his pint before standing up, saying something to the boy Felix before approaching Killian. Killian answered Felix's angry stare with a cold expression.

He said nothing as they walked upstairs.

”I didn't think you'd come back,” Peter said when Killian had closed the door behind him. The boy was smiling even now, but Killian felt immune to his powers. Peter frowned as he noticed something was wrong with the priest, and cocked his head to the side as he took a few steps closer. Killian reacted quickly and pushed Peter back, so that he stumbled into the circle of holy oil.

”What are you..?”

Killian picked the torch from the wall and threw it on the ground. The oil lit up quickly, surrounding Peter completely. Killian raised his prayer beads and started the exorcism. Peter looked at him with confusion.

”Killian, what..?” he asked as the flames rose higher.

”Stop! You can't bewitch me anymore! I will send you back to the hell you came from!” Peter's confusion changed to anger and he walked towards Killian, but when the flames licked at his fingers he drew back, hissing from the pain.

”Killian! Don't do this! Stop!” Killian chanted louder to drown out Peter's angry demands. As the boy started coughing Killian continued with revived vigour, _it was working!_ When Peter fell to his knees Killian was forced to take a step back as the smoke was making his eyes water. Just a little bit more, he thought as he held up the prayer beads.

The slam of the door as it was opened wasn't enough for Killian to make him pull his eyes away from the demon on the floor, but as someone slammed into his back he tumbled and fell to the floor; exorcism aborted. He looked up to see the boy Felix throw the contents of a water bucket over his coat and leap into the ring of fire without a moments doubt. He picked up the lifeless body and carried it through the flames, not sparing Killian a glance.

Killian laughed. He must have sounded mad, but he had succeeded. He would be free of his tormentor now, and of the sinful thoughts he had been plagued with.

Leaving the burning room behind him Killian left the tavern, ready to return to his old life.

  
  


He slept peacefully that night, and was in better spirits than he had been in a long time. He was too focused on redeeming himself to even wonder if the boy had survived after the exorcism. The archdeacon called on him in the cathedral and Killian told him that all was well again.

But the following night Killian dreamt of Peter again, even though it was a dream unlike he'd ever had.

They were in the tavern, a naked Peter laid out on the bed underneath Killian as he so often had been. But sunshine lit up the room and painted everything golden; it had always been night when Killian had visited his boy. In the daylight Peter seemed heavenly beautiful, unnaturally perfect, his edges somehow softer.

”I'm feeling hot,” Peter murmured, and Killian got up quickly about to get him something to drink. When he turned around, Peter wasn't still anymore. His chest was glowing from within, and he scraped at it in panic. The fire broke forth and quickly drowned out Peter's voice with its roar as it swallowed up the boy, the bed and then the whole wall behind it. Killian raised his hands to protect himself, and woke up.

He didn't know what to make of the dream, and so he ignored it. But as Peter continued to haunt his nights Killian slowly began to doubt if his exorcism had worked. He would lay in his bed, unable to fall asleep again, and think about Peter. He wanted desperately to go and see him again, to beg for forgiveness and kiss him. The thought of Felix often drove Killian to pacing back and forth in his room. The blond lad had probably proudly presented himself as Peter's saviour. With Killian gone, he could have Peter all to himself.

The sleepless nights caught up to Killian, and the ever so sharp-eyed archdeacon noticed this quickly. Killian was replacing the candles before the evening sermon when Paillard approached him.

”You don't look so well, Father. What's troubling you?”

”Nothing, Archdeacon,” Killian answered quickly. He didn't want to disappoint the man who had been like a father to him.

”Do not lie, Killian. Is it about the boy?”

”I... I exorcised the demon, but I can't sleep. I think I failed.” Killian squeezed his eyes shut to prevent the tears from falling. He was just so _tired_. He wanted his old life back, but he also wanted Peter so badly. He shouldn't want the boy, because he was a man, because of his religion, his priesthood, the sex, because Peter was a Gypsy.

”Perhaps... A man doesn't have to be possessed by a demon to be able to lure others to sin. This boy, is he still alive?” Killian nodded. ”It is not he who haunts you, it is your sins. Come with me, and confess everything. It is the only way to clear your soul.”

And so Killian did.

The archdeacon listened with a face carved of stone, unmoved by Killian's quivering voice and teary eyes. When Killian hid his face in his hands, shoulders slumped with exhaustion, the archdeacon stood up and walked over to a window.

”God will forgive you Killian, because he sees the love in your heart and accepts your repentance is true. I will see to that the Gypsy boy will be cleansed of his sins as well.”  
”How?”

”Unless he is willing to recant, he must burn. It is the only way.”

  
  


Killian thought of warning Peter that they would be coming for him. The boy would have time to escape and he would be safe. But this thought didn't bring Killian any more happiness than the thought of Peter's lifeless body. He thought about the other boy, Felix, how he had thrown himself into the ring of fire without a seconds thought to save Peter. They would escape together, Killian became convinced of this. Jealousy raised its ugly head, and Killian felt like hitting something when he thought of the two together. No, if he couldn't have Peter, no one else could either.

By the time Killian stepped out on the street he had reached a conclusion. He would give Peter one last chance, but if he wouldn't take it, God would have him.

  
  


The tavern was exactly like Killian remembered it: dirty, loud and vile. This time he headed straight for the corner in the back. Peter was there. Warmth bloomed in Killian's chest at the sight of him. He seemed unscathed, and Killian was thankful. Felix sat beside Peter, whispering something in his ear. Peter nodded along, that mischievous smile of his unchanged.

Killian sat down in a corner to watch them. He didn't know how long he sat there, except that the room was a lot quieter when Peter finally stood up and disappeared out through the back door. Killian got up instantly and followed him, but this time he didn't manage to sneak up on the boy. Peter turned around with a teasing smirk, which to Killian seemed fake.

”What are you doing here, Father?” he said, his tone teasing. Peter didn't move as Killian walked up to him, nor when the priest ran a hand over his cheek.

”You have driven me to sin, Peter. I thought it was the demon inside you, but...” _I was too weak to resist you, even though you are only human._ ”Please come with me.”

”After what you did? If it wasn't for Felix I'd be d–,”

”Shut your mouth!” Killian shouted harshly, and his grip on Peter's chin tightened. ”No Felix, no more. I don't want to share you.” The desperation in his voice was evident even to Killian. Peter's eyes were stormy and his body was stiff. ”Can't you see, Peter? You're damned. All the things you've done, what you _are_... I can save you. Just, come with me and I'll show you God.” _No I won't, I don't want to share you with him either._ ”You'll be safe.”

”Killian... You want to lock me up somewhere, keep me hidden? My only purpose in life to let you fuck me when you want to?” Killian nodded frantically, but as Peter's bewildered look turned colder Killian started shaking his head instead. He could see Peter shutting him out as his eyes lost all emotion.

”I'm a Gypsy, Killian. We don't do well inside stone walls.” Peter forcibly removed Killian's hand and took a step back.

”What are you doing?”

”I'm not coming with you.”

”You don't... you don't want to be with me?”

”You almost killed me Killian!” Peter raised his voice for the first time, and Killian jerked back at the anger in Peter's voice. ”Felix told me to stay away from you, but I thought you were... fascinating. He was right though. Goodbye, Killian.” Peter was as cold as the walls of the cathedral, his eyes its tombs, but Killian felt as though hell's fires had been unleashed within him.

”It's either me or the pyre, Gypsy!” he shouted after Peter. He was almost surprised when the boy stopped and turned his head to the side, not quite looking back.

”I'd rather burn,” he answered, and disappeared into the shadows.

”Then you will,” Killian whispered and left without looking back.

  
  


The following day Killian slept past noon for the first time since he'd joined the church. He bathed and dressed in his robes slowly. To keep his thoughts from straying to the boy, he focused on planning his day to every small detail. He took the shortest route to the cathedral and kept his chin high, not gracing the beggars he passed with a look.

He performed his activities in relative peace of mind until a curate informed him that the archdeacon wanted a word with him. Killian immediately felt his heart skip a beat out of fear; he was certain it was about Peter. Perhaps Paillard had somehow found out about their meeting last night? He dried his sweaty palms on his robes before entering the archdeacon's office.

”Archdeacon, you sent for me?” Killian asked tentatively and sat down in the chair in front of the archdeacon's desk. Paillard nodded and looked up from the parchment he had been reading. He didn't seem angry, but there was something contemplative in his look as he studied Killian.

”Captain Nolan and his men raided an infamous tavern in the lesser parts of the city this morning, and they managed to capture the Gypsy boy Peter Pan. He is in the dungeons at the moment along with others of his kind.”

Killian should have expected something like this, but he was surprised at how quickly the archdeacon had managed to exert his influence and get Peter arrested. Killian did his best not to show any emotion on his face, especially as he wasn't sure what he felt.

”What is going to happen to him?” he finally asked, trying to sound indifferent.

”Once he confesses, he will be burnt on the stake. The fire will be a blessing for such a wretched creature.” Killian must have paled considerably, because Paillard's tone hardened as a reminder that Killian was walking on thin ice. ”This is for the best. Go now, Reverend Jones. I will take care of everything.”

Killian left the room with a mumbled thank you. He felt sick.

  
  


Killian wasn't as unaffected by the news of Peter's imprisonment as he'd hoped. By the second day he heard that Peter had confessed to everything, and as the archdeacon had promised, Peter would burn for his sins. Killian avoided his feelings on this as best as he could. He managed to stay away from Peter until the evening before his execution would take place. Killian was panicking though he didn't realize it, and he couldn't let Peter go just like that, especially not when the boy was so close and unable to escape him.

So after the evening sermon Killian headed for the Palace of Justice. He had rarely visited the dungeons underneath, but he did know his way around. The guards let him through without questions, until Killian reached the warden. The middle-aged man looked up with unguarded surprise and stood up quickly.

”Father, I didn't know you would be coming down here, wh–,”

”I need to speak with the Gypsy boy that was brought in three days ago, Peter Pan.” Killian held his ground as the warden gave him a considering look. Finally he shrugged, as if a priest's fancies weren't his problems.

”He's in the correctional room. I'll show ya.” The warden was missing one of his teeth, which caused him to spit with every s-sound. Killian followed him deeper into the dungeons, avoiding having to touch anything.

The correctional was a small room, but bigger than the cells, with no windows. Different devices hang on the walls, smaller hooks and whips lined up on a sturdy table.

Peter.

Killian stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the boy, who was suspended from the roof so his toes barely touched the floor.

”I'll be outside,” the warden said and closed the door behind Killian. Killian took a few careful steps closer to the unmoving figure. His bare torso shone in the light of the torches, but the skin wasn't smooth as it used to be. There were bruises and cuts and dried blood, so much blood. Red drops fell from Peter's feet to the floor, the drips noisy as they fell into a fresh puddle on the otherwise empty floor.

”Peter...” Killian whispered and the boy raised his head. There was a bruise on his left cheek, but otherwise his face seemed untouched. He said nothing, instead holding Killian's gaze. ”I thought you... you confessed?” Peter raised one eyebrow, a gesture that was so very him that it hurt Killian to see.

”What are you doing here, priest?” Peter finally asked, his voice hoarse.

”I'm sorry. That they did this to you,” Killian reached out to touch him, but his hand dropped as Peter let out a broken laugh.

”They didn't do this. _You_ did this to me Killian. You're talking about how I damned you, but since we met, all you've done is ruin my life. _You're_ the demon here, not me.” Killian struck him then, with the back of his hand across that sharp cheek. His ring cut open the skin, but Peter still stared defiantly back at Killian.

The force turned him around slightly, and Killian got a glimpse of his bloodied, shredded back.

”I gave you a chance at redemption.” Whom Killian was trying to convince, he didn't know, but it seemed he was more ready to believe it than Peter.

”You claim to be virtuous, and yet you've acted on nothing but lust and jealousy the past weeks. Your lust and your jealousy put me here. You might as well light the pyre with your own hands, finish what you started at the tavern.”

”The fire will clean you of your sins,” Killian whispered with conviction. ”You will be saved and God will forgive you for all that you've done.”  
”Will he forgive you too?” Peter spit back, still so much venom in his hoarse voice. Killian crossed his hands behind his back to stop them from shaking.

”May God save your soul,” Killian said and turned around, his steps quick as he tried to flee the dungeon and the boy. By the last door he was stopped by the warden, and noticed only now that his apron was covered in blood splatters.

”Shall we continue the lashing, Father?” he asked. Killian nodded, careful to keep his face blank. The warden grinned. ”Yes, Father, very well.” He walked away with a cat o' nine tales in his hand. Killian felt suddenly sick, and so he took the steps two at the time. He wasn't quite fast enough to get out of earshot before the screams began.

  
  


Peter would be burnt in a small courtyard: after all, he was popular among the people of the gutter, and everyone wanted to avoid a protest. He would be dealt with quickly and quietly.

Killian was dressed in his black robes. On the outside he looked calm, much like the pile of wood constructed around a pole in the middle of the courtyard. Inside he felt hollow, none of the fire that had burnt within him these past weeks left.

There were other people around him: the archdeacon had just arrived, priests and acolytes, the executioner stood by the unlit pyre. Still, Killian felt all alone until they dragged Peter outside. He was wearing a white tunic and he had been washed. He looked almost like he had outside of the church, in the tavern and on the streets (he was thinner, Killian noticed immediately. His hair didn't shine like it used to in the rays of the setting sun. The mischievous smirk was long ago killed).

Peter didn't look up as he was tied to the pole; Killian couldn't look away.

”Father Jones. You may ask the sinner to recant one last time.” The archdeacon snuck up on Killian as he was engrossed with the sight of the slight gypsy boy. ”Go on. It is time to purge him of his sins.”

Killian started walking before he had registered the words. There was no one within earshot as he climbed the two wooden steps up on the platform, and it wasn't until he was so close he could touch Peter that the boy raised his eyes. The raised eyebrow was a weak effort to replicate the cocky attitude he had embraced before.

”This is your last chance,” Killian said, his voice colder than he had intended.

”To repent my sins? Or to come with you?” Peter's voice was weak, but there was defiance yet. Killian backhanded him for it.

”Either.”

”Neither,” Peter answered back, the word contained within a heavy sigh. Killian was at war with himself as he studied the boy. He wanted nothing more than to cut the ropes that tied him to the pole and hide him away, but at the same time he longed to be rid of the boy. ”What do you want Killian?” Peter met Killian's eyes, but there were so many emotions in them and in him that Killian was unable to distinguish any of them.

”Peace,” Killian finally whispered.

”You can't get that from me. Your priests would tell you to confess,” Peter answered, his tone flat. His indifference aggravated Killian. Couldn't the boy see reason? The only time Killian was at peace was in Peter's arms. Peter had given him peace before, why couldn't he do it now?

”My pride, my cursed lust – I confess them all. Just leave me alone,” Killian pleaded, desperation and anger in his voice. He knew the archdeacon was watching, but he couldn't stop his hands from shaking.

”I'm about to,” Peter answered, and turned his head away as much as he could. Killian tried to answer, but the lump in his throat made it impossible to talk. He traced the cross over Peter's features and his touch lingered on those beautiful cheekbones for the last time.

With that Killian stepped down from the platform and nodded to the executioner, whose face looked ghostly in the light of the torch he was holding. Darkness had surrounded them quickly and no one could see the tears making their way down Killian's cheeks. He started walking away, but as the wood caught fire and the flames lighted up the courtyard he turned for one last look. Peter looked small, engulfed by the flames, a defiant look on his face which was turned towards the sky.

Killian turned around and left without looking back again. He didn't stop walking until he was in the cathedral and fell down on his knees in front of the Virgin Mary statue. He clasped his hands and started praying.

**Author's Note:**

> Drop a comment if you made it this far :*


End file.
